To Deceit And Love The Enemy
by missmonicaaaa
Summary: Hermione gets thrown back in time because of an unfortunate timeturner mishap. And guess what? She meets none other than Tom Riddle! Corny summary, but good fic, I promise. HGTR. R&R!
1. Falling Backwards

**Disclaimer:** Wait—don't even say it. It's not mine.

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**Author's Note:** Okie dokie. Just so that everyone knows, I'm only starting another story because the one I've got started now is giving me writer's block. This one will be reasonably short, maybe 5-8 chapters or so, and it's a timeturner story concerning Tom Riddle and Hermione. If you don't like, don't read it. 

Cheers : )

i wanna dance with you in the rain.

* * *

**_TO DECEIT AND LOVE THE ENEMY_**

**Part i.** Falling Backwards.

* * *

It was winter, and another cold blanket of snow was falling to silence the countryside. Dusk was approaching, releasing hues of blue and purple to bleed together into darkness of the sky, contrasting more and more against the crystal flakes showering from the heavens. 

Hermione Granger was sitting by a window, staring out into the shadowed twilight, seeing only the vague outline of the forested mountains surrounding Hogwarts Castle and the lake, frozen over from the season's unusual temperatures.

The antique oil lamp beside her flickered, and she was reluctantly brought back to the present—which consisted only of the heavy book lying open before her. She sighed, attempting to continue her reading, but as her eyes skimmed over the same sentence several times over, she realized that her focus was lost and there would be no more studying for the night.

Jadedly, Hermione stood up, feeling her shoulders cramp from the uncomfortable position she had been in. Closing the book, she returned it to its original place on the dusty shelves of the library, and quietly walked out, not wanting to disturb Madam Pince. Her footsteps sounded eerily hollow as she stepped into the empty corridor.

She considered going up to the Gryffindor common room, and maybe talk to Harry and Ron for a while, but at the moment she really didn't have the strength. It was still reasonably early, and she finally decided to go outside for a short walk to clear her mind.

The doors of the Great Hall opened slowly, and Hermione winced as they creaked. Even if she was Head Girl, she didn't want to be confronted with any questions.

The cold air hit her painfully hard in the face, immediately finding its way through her thick cloak and boots to chill her to the bone. Absentmindedly, she transfigured a couple of buttons on her sweater into a hat and gloves, and made her way slowly through the deep snow and down to the lake.

There was a pristine silence that hung around her, broken only by the crunching of the snow beneath her feet. She let her mind wander, not wanting to suppress anything for the time being.

There was a small pier leading about a hundred feet into the lake, and Hermione walked down its length, relishing the beauty of the sparkling ice on the water's surface. She sat, leaning against one of the supporting posts, her feet hanging over the edge and barely skimming the surface.

The memory came back from her fourth year, when Viktor had brought her here after the Yule Ball and kissed her. So much had changed since then. That was the time when they had all lived in blissful ignorance, somehow believing that Voldemort was just a fairytale.

How wrong they had been. And now, it was too late. Now, Dumbledore had been killed, along with twenty-something other Order members. Sirius had died at the hands of his cousin, and Bill Weasley, Remus Lupin, and Neville Longbottom were murdered by a surprise Death Eater attack over the past summer. It seemed like the end had finally come.

Now, people lived in constant fear, driven to a selfish hysteria by the threat of the Dark Lord's followers killing them and their families. There were perhaps a little more than eighty students still attending Hogwarts, which was one of the safest fortifications in the country. All the remaining Order members were hidden there, too, trying to maintain at least some level of a battle plan. But still, as he grew stronger, they grew weaker.

Hope was quickly unraveling, and poor Harry was taking the brunt. He was consumed by guilt, convinced that everything that was happening was because he was too weak. His nightmares had returned, and now he spent his days alone with Ron, scarcely speaking to anyone but him as they tried to think of ways to overcome Voldemort's growing army.

Hermione was usually with them, too, but as the weeks rolled by, she could feel her sanity ebbing away with the tense dullness of their days, which were interrupted by Harry's occasional desperate outbursts. She understood how difficult it must be for him, and she admired how well he was able to cope, even though at times it seemed like too much. So now, she had taken to spending her hours in the library, skimming through books on all possible topics and spells that could help with their position in any way. It was soothing to be able to hide in a book's secrets and forget about reality for a while.

She forced herself to stop, and push the memories into the back of her mind. _It did not do to dwell in the past…_

Hermione smiled bitterly, realizing how ironic that thought was. She brought her hand to her neck, finding the thin, golden chain she always wore. The one with the timeturner she had had for four years. On so many occasions she had wondered what it would be like to twist it, and take herself away, to the past. Time when the name Lord Voldemort didn't connect to pain and suffering, didn't mean anything at all. Time when there was happiness and peace and love in the world.

But she couldn't. People depended on her here. Ron and Harry most of all. She couldn't leave them and just run away from her fears.

Hermione gazed at the timeturner, running her fingers almost reverently over the hourglass. _If only…_

She suddenly wished she could cry, and let go of some of the agonizing pain and emotion she constantly held inside her. But there were no tears left for her to cry.

Hermione sighed, shaking her head to stop such notions. The evening had grown ever darker, and now she couldn't even see the shadowy hills across the lake. Heavily, she decided that it was time to go back inside before Harry and Ron began to panic. The snow had finally stopped, and Hermione was grateful for at least that small comfort.

She stood up, stretching her back. The night was colder, though, and there was a sheen of frost covering everything. The wooden pier was slippery, and she cautiously began to make her way towards the dim silhouette of the castle.

She wondered if this was fate, and why it was so cruel. Bad couldn't prevail over good. It was against everything she had ever believed in. But now, Lord Voldemort seemed to have disproven that theory.

Hermione could feel the frustration welling up inside her. Angrily, she kicked a small pebble that was lying on the pier. But her foot slipped on the icy wood. Her weight shifted, and she could feel herself falling forward. Bracing herself, she reached out on instinct to break the impact, forgetting about the timeturner she still held in her hand.

Hermione felt the small instrument shatter against the frozen wood, forcing glass shards deep into her hand. Something cracked in her wrist, sending a splintering pain up her whole arm, and then, as her forehead collided with the pier, everything went black. The only sensation that was left was a feeling of dizziness as her head spun.

But maybe that was the world spinning around her.

* * *

Hermione could feel a heavy pounding in her head as she finally opened her eyes. Everything seemed to be blurry. 

_What happened?_

A voice thoroughly startled her. "Oh, good, you're awake." She felt a warm hand place something cool on her forehead. Her vision cleared.

There was a woman standing above her, clad in a white nurse's robe. She seemed to be in her early fifties—plump, with graying hair.

"You had quite a fall, dear," she continued, now inspecting Hermione's battered hand. "We're lucky Tom found you by the lake last night while he was doing his rounds, otherwise who knows what state you'd be in."

Her voice seemed loud and obnoxious to Hermione's throbbing head, and she let it pass in one ear and out the other. Who was this woman? Painfully, she shifted her head slightly to the left to see some of her surroundings. Relief swept through her as she recognized the Hogwarts hospital wing. It looked slightly different, but it was the hospital nonetheless.

_Then who was this woman?_

Hermione swallowed, trying to find her voice. But before she could say anything, the nurse was talking again.

"I don't know _how_ you managed to embed glass and sand all at once into your palm like this. What in Merlin's name were you trying to do?" she fussed, rubbing a stinging ointment on the injury.

Suddenly, a vague recollection of what had happened filled her mind. She was walking down the pier, back to Hogwarts, when she slipped and fell. But what explained the condition of her hand?

_The timeturner._

It took a few moments for Hermione's analytical brain to process the information. She was now back at Hogwarts, but during the day. In the hospital wing, which seemed different. Different beds, different nurse. The timeturner. Which meant different time. Her mind reeled.

_That's not possible._

"Dear?"

Numbly, Hermione's gaze shifted to the woman standing above her.

_That _was not_ possible!_

"I asked for your name," the nurse repeated.

_How _could_ she have been so stupid?_

Hermione closed her eyes for a few seconds, trying to gather her wits for at least the time being. She was going to be okay. Everything would be fixed soon.

"Her-Hermione. Hermione…Granger," she managed.

"Very well, Miss Granger," the nurse said, raising her eyebrow slightly. "The headmaster will be here to speak to you in a moment."

Hermione didn't even bother ask what this woman was talking about. She cursed herself for her carelessness. Now what was she supposed to do? She had no idea what year she was stuck in, whether it was in the past or future of her own present, and how she was going to get back. Suddenly, the idea of escaping her problems to another time didn't seem so appealing.

Helplessly, Hermione stared about herself. No one else appeared to be in the room. She lifted her bandaged arm to see how much harm had been done. Wincing with the movement, she realized that her wrist was broken, and the deep cuts on her hand weren't pleasant to look at. She was grateful that the nurse had removed the glass splinters and cleaned the scrape while she was still unconscious.

Sighing, she dropped her arm back on the sheets, gritting her teeth at her own stupidity as another bolt of pain shot through her. Someone had changed her, too. Now she was wearing a muslin hospital gown, one that was much shabbier than the current ones at Hogwarts.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked to the entrance of the hospital wing, where someone had just come in. He looked old, his balding head still visible beneath the pointed, blue wizards hat and the white tufts of hair above his ears.

As he came nearer, Hermione greeted him politely, but didn't stop with her careful scrutiny. He looked familiar, as though she had seen him somewhere before. So maybe she hadn't gone too far back in time!

"I am Professor Armando Dippet, the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." His voice was quiet, and he smiled amiably.

Suddenly, Hermione recognized him from one of the paintings in Dumbledore's—now Professor McGonagall's—office. He was the man who preceded Dumbledore as Head of Hogwarts more than fifty years ago.

_And that meant that Dumbledore was still at Hogwarts in this point in time!_

Relief coursed through her. If Dumbledore was here, she would be alright. Harry had told her something concerning Dippet a while back, too, but she pushed that into the back of her mind as he began speaking to her.

"We have never had an occurrence such as this before, Miss Granger. An unfamiliar girl simply appearing from nowhere on Hogwarts grounds. It's truly inexplicable," Dippet said, standing at the foot of her bed.

"It is indeed," Hermione murmured with a smile, "because Hogwarts is protected with such complex charms that prevent deplorable access in any way. Apparition, portkeys, the floo network, or any other magical means of transportation are blocked, and the castle is charmed to keep muggles away. I know."

Dippet stared at her for a moment, obviously impressed with her knowledge of Hogwarts' safety enchantments. He decided to take a different approach.

"Judging by your familiarity with the inner workings of this school, I am led to believe that you have connections here. You appear to be about sixteen or seventeen years of age, so perhaps you are an upper class student, which is confirmed by the Head Girl badge on your robes. However, Hogwarts already has a Head Boy _and_ Girl, and we have no record of a Miss Hermione Granger ever attending here, so I am quite baffled about how and from where you arrived." He smiled, a smirk lightly tugging on the corners of his lips.

Hermione was surprised, and for a moment acutely reminded of Dumbledore's flawless logic. Realizing that this man might help her get transported back into her own time, she decided to be blunt. "I came from the future."

Dippet raised his eyebrows. "Is that so?" he asked skeptically.

"Yes," Hermione confirmed. "It was an accident." And she told him of her misfortune with the timeturner.

"That is all very well," Dippet said when she finished, "except for one small problem. What in Merlin's name is a timeturner?"

It was then when Hermione once again realized she had been too hasty. Why hadn't she remembered that the timeturner wasn't invented until sixteen years after the birth of Voldemort? She cursed herself again. Now, Dippet obviously thought that her accident had somehow affected her brain, too. He wouldn't be much help.

_Damn._

She would need to find Dumbledore and talk to him. He would be the only one to get her out of this mess.

"Nevermind," Hermione said resignedly, in reply to his question.

"That is a most creative story, Miss Granger," the Professor continued. "But since I see no solution to your…ah, _dilemma_…just yet, I suggest that you continue your tuition here as well as you would have at the previous academy you attended."

Hermione almost snorted at Dippet's ignorance. Did he really think that a student from a another wizarding school had simply dropped in for a visit?

"I shall ask our Head Boy to be your mentor for as long as you need assistance. You will be assigned to the same classes, and I believe it would be for the best if the two of you shared a joint dormitory so that he may keep an eye on you."

Hermione wanted to cry, _'I am not disabled! I don't need assistance! And I'm not a criminal who has to be kept watch over!'_

But of course, she said no such thing. For now, she would have to stick it out, until she managed to speak privately with Dumbledore.

"Thank you, sir," she said coolly instead. "And when do I get to meet my mentor?"

"I told him to stop by the hospital wing around this time to introduce you. In fact, he was rather eager to see if you were doing alright. After all, Tom _was_ the one who found you by the lake in the first place."

Hermione nodded, thinking she detected a hint of pride in the old Professor's voice.

"Oh, and speak of the devil, here he is!" Dippet exclaimed, gesturing across the hospital wing to where the door had opened.

Out of curiosity, Hermione sat a little straighter to see the Head Boy, someone who apparently ranked in her standards. He walked through the aisle between the beds—or rather _strutted_—before stopping at a respectful distance beside Dippet.

Hermione appraised him, taking in the mysterious, but slightly familiar, façade of the boy before her. In fact, he shouldn't have even been called a boy. He was tall, over six feet, with a wiry, muscular frame. The dark hair contrasted with the pale skin, and Hermione had to consciously stop herself from staring into his eyes. They were cold, but she sensed there was something hiding behind them. Or maybe that conclusion came from the way he was smirking at her. She glanced at his robes, disdain filling her own features as she realized he was a Slytherin.

"Miss Granger," Professor Dippet announced. "This is our famous Head Boy—" here he heartily clapped him on the shoulder "—who will be your mentor for the next few weeks. Meet Tom Riddle."

And Hermione felt her blood freeze. Numbly, she stared at the boy across from her. The boy who would become the world's most feared evil. Helplessly, she watched as he smiled coldly at her and extended his hand to shake. To Hermione, it almost looked as though it was a smile from the predator to the prey.

Suddenly, the smile on his lips transformed into a look of worry as she faltered and blood drained from her face.

"Miss Granger, are you alright?" Dippet asked, his voice increasing a notch.

"N-No…" Hermione gasped, her throat constricting. This couldn't be happening. "Please…don't…hurt me…" White nothingness ate at the corners of her vision, but didn't block it enough. She could still see Tom rushing to her side as she went into shock.

Her body was frozen. Her mind screamed for help from this murderer, but her throat couldn't vocalize it. And as her head began to throb from her earlier concussion and the added anxiety attack of the moment, Hermione once more fell unconscious—this time to the ice cold touch of Voldemort's hands supporting her head and back, his face mere inches from hers.

Only one thought echoed through her mind as she slipped out cold to the voice of the nurse's shrill fussing.

_Save me from him._

_From_ him.

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**Author's Note:** So! What did you think? Please, PLEASE, _PLEASE REVIEW_! I don't want to beg, but if you liked this, then please let me know. Otherwise, it'll be pointless to update. 

Anyways…I think that's it for now. (I hope I didn't make Hermione's reaction seem too exaggerated. But imagine being in a hospital after a pretty serious accident, and all of a sudden a serial killer would march in, pretending to be your friend, after attempting to kill you on multiple occasions beforehand. I think I'd panic, too. Lol.)

Cheers : )

i wanna dance with you in the rain.


	2. Trapped

**Disclaimer:** You can sue me, if you want, but all you'd get would be a really slow, crappy computer, a postcard from Prague, and a pack of gum. Wait—the gum is wintermint. My favorite…:stuffs gum in mouth:…Nevermind!

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**Author's Note:** Erm…kind of a disturbing disclaimer there… 

Anyway. Here's the much anticipated update all of you have been waiting for. (Right?) I'm kind of improvising here, so there's no preview.

_Anyway._ On with the show!

Cheers : )

i wanna dance with you in the rain.

* * *

**_TO DECEIT AND LOVE THE ENEMY_**

**Part ii.** Trapped.

* * *

Hermione awoke to the sound of silent darkness. Groggily, she opened her eyes, feeling rather disoriented. Her head felt like a ton of lead, and it hurt just to focus her eyes. Since there was no one else around, and the shadow of the heavy, damask curtains seemed to be drawn over the windows, she figured it was nighttime. 

It took her a moment to remember the recent happenings that had occurred to trap her in this position. The timeturner. Realizing she had gone a little more than fifty years back in time. Half a century. _Tom Riddle._

Immediately, Hermione felt her breath constrict in her throat as she remembered her introduction to the dark, handsome Head Boy. And then the name that revealed itself. _Tom Riddle._ She could feel panic building inside her chest as her blurred vision scanned the vicinity of the hospital wing. She truly was alone. Thank Merlin. The breath she hadn't known she was holding slipped from between her lips.

And as Hermione's heart rate slowly returned to normal, she realized something vital. Something that had escaped her mind in her earlier panic. Tom Riddle didn't know who she was. He didn't even know who _he_ would _become_. And if it was his intention to kill her, he would have done it already, by the lake, when no one would have suspected anything.

Immediately, Hermione's characteristic, accurate mind assessed the new information. No doubt, Riddle was capable of murder even at this age. (Bear in mind, Chamber of Secrets.) Which meant, that if Hermione posed as a threat, he obviously wouldn't hesitate in removing her.

She shuddered at the thought. But that really left only one sensible solution. She would have to pretend that her earlier story—coming from the future—was nonsense caused by her injury, and she didn't remember how she arrived at Hogwarts. She would have to pretend to fall happily into her new schedule here, while really scheming with Dumbledore on how to transport her back into her own time.

And most of all, she would have to keep Tom Riddle from suspecting anything at all. She could let nothing slip about her future, about Harry, or about the Lord Voldemort from her time. Otherwise, he would surely kill her.

Coming to this conclusion, Hermione decided to attempt to fall back asleep. But the adrenaline pumping through her blood because of her agitation had different ideas, and she spent the next few hours with her mind in turmoil, trying to find loopholes to an easier solution.

But nothing else came to her, and as the first rays of dawn began shining through the curtains, she finally managed to fall into a light, fitful slumber.

* * *

The two following days passed slowly. The nurse—whose name was Madam Hooke—insisted that she have no visitors, for which Hermione was rather grateful since she still needed to get accustomed to her current situation, concerning Riddle. 

So, when she awoke on the third morning to see Tom lounging in a chair beside her bed, she somehow managed to contain her instinctive reaction to scream. He was looking away when she opened her eyes, and, against her better judgment, Hermione took advantage of the moment to look at him closely. It was like a horror she couldn't tear her gaze from—to be sitting at such close proximity to the most feared wizard in the world. Now, he looked almost innocent, the way his dark hair hung into his eyes, the way his expression seemed so unguarded.

But her examination of him lasted less than a few seconds, because suddenly, without turning towards her, he said, "Glad to see you're awake."

His voice was like ice, but laced with an almost sarcastic humor. Hermione averted her gaze, steeling herself to keep from shivering.

He shifted in his chair, finally staring straight at her. His eyes were mesmerizingly deep, and as Hermione met them, she thought she detected something other than cruelty. The smirk on his lips widened as they intently watched each other. Hermione willed herself not to look away.

"You're afraid of me," he stated, not breaking their contact.

Hermione swallowed, knowing what she had to say. "N-No."

She was surprised when he laughed. It sounded almost…pleasant. "Don't deny the obvious, Miss Granger."

At hearing her name from his lips, Hermione's head snapped away. She could feel a small bubble of courage forming itself in her chest. "_Should_ I be afraid of you?" she asked.

There was a silence. "No," he replied.

Hermione looked back at him and offered a small smile. It took a lot of willpower. "Then I'm not," she said simply.

"I'm curious about you," he said, cocking his head. "We rarely have pretty girls simply appear around here."

"I'm just as curious as you are," Hermione answered quietly, hoping he would buy it.

"But didn't you tell Dippet you came from the future?" His eyes were boring into hers.

"I-I was babbling."

"Ah. Then how else would you have Hogwarts robes?" _Shit._ He didn't believe her.

At her silence, he smirked again. "I won't trouble you now, Miss Granger, since these are the Christmas holidays, but I believe we shall be having a little chat soon."

* * *

That chat came later the same evening. It had grown dark already, and Tom had pulled her away from the Slytherin common room (since that was where she was forced to stay with him) and taken her up to his private dormitory. 

"So, what did you think?" he asked casually, draping his cloak on a leather armchair.

"Of what?" Hermione asked cautiously, stepping further into the room.

"Slytherin."

"You are quite an…intriguing…group of people," she finally replied.

Tom laughed, and it sent chills up Hermione's spine. "Indeed. Well, I need to write a letter before we go to bed, and while I do, please take advantage of my bathroom. I'm sure you've needed to wash for several days now."

Hermione gave him a slight nod, surprised with his civility towards her. _But he doesn't know you're a mudblood,_ she reminded herself.

The bath was pleasant, nonetheless, and Hermione found her mind constantly reverting to thoughts of Tom. He was extremely popular, especially with the girls, and it reminded her a little of Draco Malfoy. On the other hand, it seemed as though he was slightly uncomfortable around them, which, of course, was the exact opposite of Ferret Boy. Against her will, Hermione felt herself slightly drawn to him, now that her fear had subsided. She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was something endlessly fascinating about Tom.

Maybe it was the fact that he behaved so strangely—as if he was a regular, teenage boy instead of a budding murderer. Or maybe it was how he treated her—on one side with complete nonchalance, on the other as though she was something in need of protecting. Hermione had noticed how he had followed her everywhere she had gone, whether it was across the common room or to the bathroom.

She was curious about his intentions. And no matter how much she hated Lord Voldemort, she couldn't make the connection between him and this boy.

After nearly three quarters of an hour in the bathtub, Hermione finally climbed out and wrapped a towel around herself. She realized that she had no extra clothes with her, and would have to ask Tom. The thought made her cringe.

Feeling rather self conscious, Hermione stepped out of the bathroom and into Tom's private quarters. His back was facing her, and he was hunched over the oak writing desk. The contour of his broad shoulders was visible beneath the silk, white dress shirt.

"Finished?" he asked, not turning.

"Yes. But, um…Riddle?"

"What is it?" he inquired impatiently, now spinning to look at her.

Hermione felt a nudge of panic at his abrupt movement. "I…uh, I need…"

But Tom had stopped, and was now staring at her openly. The way her wet hair curled down her shoulders, the way she held the towel as low as possible—which still wasn't very low—on her thigh.

Something, somewhere within him, stirred. It wasn't like this with all the other girls he had bedded. But he collected himself, and took a step towards her, pulling out his wand. She seemed to flinch.

"Is this what you need?" he asked, his voice slightly husky, as he flourished his wand.

Instantly, the towel around her was replaced with a black, lace nightie that was the same length as the towel had been.

He smirked as she gasped. "Tom!"

"Yes?" he asked, trying not to laugh at her scandalized discomfort. But then he saw fear flash through her eyes again as he moved closer. Suddenly, he realized what she was afraid of, and his irritation returned. "I'm not going to hurt you!" he said loudly, even more annoyed as she flinched. "Here." Tom handed her his cloak, and wordlessly returned to his desk.

Hermione took it, shaking, and wrapped herself in it. Subconsciously, she decided she liked its scent. But what had Riddle just been playing at? She walked to the other end of the room and nervously sat in a black armchair in front of the fire.

There was silence for several minutes as Tom's quill scratched feverishly on the parchment. Hermione allowed herself to fall into thought, wondering if Tom already knew anything about his future. Suddenly, something came to her.

"Riddle?"

He didn't answer, but his quill paused. She took it as encouragement.

"My old robes. You know I'm a Gryffindor."

"Your point?"

Hermione stared at his back incredulously. "And you're a Slytherin."

"Again, your point?"

"Well…" she struggled for the right words. "I don't understand why you're being so…so _hospitable_ towards me. I mean, shouldn't you be—"

Tom stood up and walked over to the fireplace, sitting in the armchair across from Hermione's. "I don't know enough about you," he said, as if it was the obvious. "There are many reasons why you could have been chosen for a Gryffindor. And though I rather dislike most other members of your house, you seem…different. _Intriguing._" He smirked as he used the same word Hermione had used to describe Slytherins. "Besides," he added, "I need your help."

She was immediately on her guard as he said those last words. "My help? For what?"

"I believe you when you say you are from the future," he said simply, inspecting his fingernails.

"I'm not," Hermione protested, but knowing it was fruitless.

"You're lying," he said, smirking. "And even if you weren't, then there is still something you are not telling me. Obviously, you have some sort of special power if you managed to get to Hogwarts grounds illegally. I want to know how you did it. And if you help me, I'll help you."

It was then that Hermione finally understood what fate had done to her. Tom Riddle would be the only one to help her back into her own time. For some unknown reason, she even sensed that Dumbledore wouldn't be able to do it. But in exchange, she would have to help Tom become Lord Voldemort.

She almost laughed out loud at the irony. But there was no other solution. This time, it was tears that threatened to come.

Finally, she looked at Tom, who was watching her closely. Something about his gaze still unnerved her. There was something behind those eyes…

"Do you believe in fate, Riddle?" she asked bluntly.

He laughed softly, coldly. "No, not fate. There is only power."

Hermione nodded, still completely at loss at what she was supposed to do. Everything was changing so quickly. But as she rolled the choices over in her head, they all led to only one way out. It seemed impossible, but what else was she supposed to do?

"Alright," she said quietly. "I'll help you."

Almost tenderly, he reached out and stroked her jawbone with a finger. But Hermione could see something like...possessiveness...hidden in his features as he touched her. Tears welled in her eyes as she realized what the consequences of this decision would be. Or, more precisely, as she realized that she _had_ no idea what the consequences would be.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Here's chappie number two! This one was slightly complicated to write, because I had no idea on how I wanted Tom's / Hermione's relationship to evolve. I hope everybody liked it! 

Cheers : )

i wanna dance with you in the rain.


End file.
